Suburban Scandal
by OthilaOdal
Summary: Starved for affection and freedom, Mello, a teenager, finds solace in the arms of a rugged stranger that just moved in next door - and is also married. [AU]


**Warnings: **Underage drinking, underage sex, emotional abuse, all kinds of crap.

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Death Note.

**Author's Notes: **I'm not even going to tell myself that I shouldn't start another multichapter fic. It's funny how short this first chapter is for something that took me so long...I spent most of it wondering how I was going to divide the story and the chapters and jotting down drafts and worrying a lot about my tone...I think I'm somewhat happy with it this chapter now...or I'm very tired.

oh did I mention this is AU?...because I thought that was fairly obvious from the summary.

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**Suburban Scandal.**

_**Prologue:**_

_The one thing I've learnt is that the smartest people make dumb mistakes too, because when presented with things we most crave, from the depth of our hearts, none of us are very smart about it. Deep down within we all hope to be foolish, carefree, make mistakes that become better, have only wounds that will heal, have someone to catch us when we fall._

_Deep down inside, we all hope beyond hope that our dreams will come true._

_But the thing I've learnt is that the smartest people aren't smart because they're born that way. They're smart because they learn._

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_**Chapter 1: When Life Gives You Lemons.**_

Mello threw his head back and let out a loud moan. He half hoped his mother hadn't heard that. He half didn't care.

"Oh god!" He moaned at the ceiling. "Oh god yes!"

A milky gel dripped down his knuckles slowly as his hand violently stroked his glistening lubed up erection. His thumb ran over the tip and he found himself mumbling indecipherable things at himself, things he imagined he would never be able to say to another person. A beer bottle rested against his thigh, between his legs, and Mello contemplated using that as an improvised toy. He eyed it biting his lip and holding his breath while his hand moved over his manhood, imagining how good it'd feel to have someone inside of him. The thought made his heart beat faster.

"Mello?!" He heard his mother call. "Get out of there!"

Mello didn't stop. He was biting his lip raw, too far gone to care anymore.

"Oh god…" he muttered. "oh take me.."

"Mello, what are you doing?!" His mother called again, banging a fist hard against the bathroom door.

"Give me a second!" Mello yelled, almost moaning at her.

_Just another second._ He thought, moving his hand harder. His face scrunched up as his breath got shallower with each stroke. "oh god just a second longer!" he whimpered squirming in the bath tub, panting.

He spilled a hot mess onto his belly. A warm ache and exhaustion spread over his body. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Sluggishly, he turned the tap with his feet and let the cold water wash his semen off his belly, along with the gel on his manhood and his hand.

He stood up, picking the bottle of beer with him and flinging it out the little window above his head. He heard the bottle fall onto plastic bags full of trash, clinking as it hit the other two bottles he'd flung out earlier, and knew he hadn't missed the mark. He was still a little tipsy from the beer. His tolerance for alcohol was still pretty low. After all, he'd only started drinking about a month ago on his sixteenth birthday. Since then he had made it a habit to steal a bottle of his father's beers whenever he could and get drunk, or try, in the bathroom. It almost always led to him touching himself but that happened a lot anyway, with or without the beer. His parents could never tell if the beer had been stolen. And whenever his mother wondered aloud about how they were running out of beer too soon, Mello just laughed and asked her what else she expected from his alcoholic father. She'd sush and glare at him and he'd shrug and go back to whatever he was doing with nothing but a pang of guilt, nothing a little "playtime" couldn't solve.

After washing his hair and scrubbing his body clean, Mello pulled on a pair of white jeans, wrapped his towel around his bottle of lube to conceal it and swung the bathroom door open. His mother stood outside, glaring at him. His mother, Melanie, was a kind hearted hard working woman. Mello had always admired her strength and poise, her laughter and love. He had also thanked the heavens for giving him her looks and metabolism, instead of his father's.

"Just another second?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow he'd so often seen in the mirror on his own face. "Was that a second to you?"

Mello shrugged. "I was washing my hair!" He smiled at her.

"Well you're not Rapunzel, you know." She whined. Mello could see her anger melt away. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"I could be if you'd let me grow it longer."

"What? You think you don't already look like a girl?"

"And what's wrong with that?!" Mello gave her an exaggerated offended expression. "You look like a girl too, y'know?!"

"That's because I am one."

"Well, I am too." Mello smiled. "Some days."

His mother lightly laid a slap across his face and laughed. "There're new neighbors moving in next door." She said. "I want you to go help them move in."

"Oh god! Muuuum!" Mello whined leaning his forehead against the wall. "Why do you do this?!"

"C'mon, baby." She pouted at him like she always did ever since he was little, stroking his cheek gently. "They're new around here. You have to be nice. Make friends. It's nice to help people, Mello."

He sighed and accepted defeat.

* * *

Rod Ross heaved a heavy box out of the back of his SUV and placed it on the sidewalk. The sun was out but thankfully the wind was blowing right through his button down white collared shirt. He picked up another box marked books and focused his strength on picking it up and placing it on the sidewalk next to the previous box, wondering why his wife insisted on keeping books even after she had long graduated college. He hadn't been able to wait to get rid of his own books. But then he'd never cared much for studying, not like she did.

"Need help?" A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He had to look up to see who the owner of the voice was. Tall, slender legs wrapped up in tight jeans greeted him. He licked his lips and smirked, deciding to take his time to examine the person before him. Admiring a work of art could never be a rushed job.

He was used to being approached by women. He enjoyed the attention and took it whenever he could get it. It was just flirting. It didn't matter. The legs were followed by sun kissed skin and soft curves where the person's pelvic bones ought to be. He bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from saying something too forward, or whistling.

Rod half expected a short tight crop top to greet him soon after but he was met with a flat bare chest, followed by a sharp chin, a smirk and mischievous blue eyes. For a second Rod felt a little more shocked than he should have. Not because the owner of the legs he'd been admiring a second ago wasn't a woman, but because he wasn't sure if he'd ever met a man – boy – who looked just about ready to eat.

"I said, do you need help?" The boy repeated himself, in soft slow voice. "Or are you too busy looking at me to hear my voice?"

"Help would be great. Thank you." Rod replied, half shaking his head. He'd let himself get lost for a while there. He had to make sure that didn't happen too much, but lately he'd been so agitated that any distraction was welcome, let alone a distraction this attractive. "But I'm afraid some of these boxes might be a little too heavy for-"

The boy bent forward without a word, picked up the box marked books. His lithe muscles tensed under his skin but the boy tried to show no signs of strain. His jaw betrayed him, but his eyes remained steely. Rod tried not to smirk at the boy's attempt at proving himself.

"I'm Mello." He said holding the box between them. "I live right next door and I'd shake your hand but I'm too busy proving that I am not weak." He smiled sweetly at Rod through pursed lips and shiny blue eyes.

"I'm Rod Ross." Rod shook himself out of disbelief. The boy, Mello, seemed too amused with himself. A smug satisfied smirk rested on his face effortlessly.

"So where do you want these, Rod Ross?" His voice turned softer and sweeter as he said Rod's name and the sultry expression on his face wasn't any consolation.

"In the living room." Rod said, bending down to pick up the other box he'd left on the sidewalk. "And just Rod is fine."

"Rod then." Mello said suppressing a laugh. _Sure can see your rod right through your pants. _He pursed his lips harder to stop himself from laughing or was it from the weight of the box? He shrugged and followed Rod into his home.

The house was white walled and would've looked incredibly spacious if it wasn't for the dark oak flooring and the excessive amount of boxes littered all over the living room floor. Not that that did anything to hide how grand the house was.

"Nice place." Mello commented. "What's in this box anyway?" He asked as he set it on top of another, gladly.

"My wife's book collection." Rod replied. "Or at least a part of it."

Mello felt himself sink a little bit. He smiled anyway.

"Married men aren't supposed to ogle at people." His voice somehow, despite his attempts, dribbled with disappointment.

"I wasn't."

"Sure." Mello nodded waving a hand between them in dismissal.

Mello had never really had much trouble attracting people to himself. Trouble was always keeping their attention. There was always something in the way. Either he wasn't good enough for people or people weren't good enough for him. Other people being taken was new to him but it wasn't as though there was much potential to begin with. All he'd done was look at Mello, and Mello couldn't even count the number of people that had done that.

"Anything else you need help with?"

Rod looked around for a while and something told Mello he was looking for a reason to make Mello stay. But that was wishful thinking. It had to be.

"No." He said. "That's it."

* * *

The door creaked slightly as Mello pulled it open. On one hand he could feel Rod's eyes on him from across the lawn. On the other hand his father's shoes were sitting in the shoe rack and Mello wanted to sneak in without having to speak to him.

He was lithe and fast so he usually got away from his father. But it was always trouble when he didn't. It wasn't that Mello hated his father. In fact, he loved both his parents very much. He just loved his father a lot less when he was drunk.

He stepped lightly, taking longer strides towards the stairs.

"Mello?" His father's voice was sharp, bellowing. It seemed to ring inside his ribs, echo inside his skull. He could feel his forehead tensing up but he didn't dare make his father wait. Last time he'd done that, he'd earned thrashing. And last time he had been six, and scared.

He swung around quickly into the living room.

"Yes?" He tried to smile, but it came off stiff.

"Where were you?"

"Helping the neighbors move in."

His father glared at him. He had a beer bottle in his hand. The room was rank with the smell of his aftershave. His eyes were a dark brown, small and beady. His hair combed neatly back and what he called "the appropriate length for a man's hair". He was a neat man, a neat man with an unsightly temper. But Mello had learned to live with it.

"You were helping the neighbors when your mother needed you here?"

"She asked me to." His voice was small, or he couldn't hear it over his heartbeat.

"Norman, I sent him to help the neighbors." He heard his mother call out from the kitchen.

Mello's eyes remained glued to his fathers. He felt his mind knot itself over and over and over. He hated the silences the most. He hated waiting for fate.

"Go get some school work or something done."

Mello's feet moved before the sentence was done. Before he knew it he had his back against the door of his room. He let his head fall against the painted white door and shut his eyes to untangle the knots in his mind. He hated how much he tensed up whenever something like that happened. The worst part was that, nothing had happened. If he tried to ask himself "why are you so tensed up?" He never heard any answers.

He had gotten tired of asking. His father must've had a hard day at work. He worked hard and he did it for them, to provide for them. He had to be patient, to put up with his father's moods. It was for him that his father was so tensed that he needed to wash the tension down with alcohol.

It was for him.

It was his fault.

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**Author's Notes: **Lol I don't know what to say... Updates will be slow but I'd love to know what everyone thinks so far.


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